


Enjoy the ride

by winter_angst



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Dates, F/M, M/M, mudding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-06
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-12 14:55:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29886264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winter_angst/pseuds/winter_angst
Summary: Brock has his fair share of reservations.
Relationships: Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov, Jack Rollins/Brock Rumlow
Comments: 6
Kudos: 11





	Enjoy the ride

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kalika999 (kalika_999)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalika_999/gifts), [FantasticWinter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FantasticWinter/gifts).



> Beta'd by the wonderful FantasticWinter
> 
> A mudding fic, as promised

It was Wrangler Rubicon Recon, red with black rock rails. It sat running in Brock’s driveway as Jack stood in front of him, grinning. It was Saturday morning and everything was soggy from last night’s downpour. Jack’s mystery date was suddenly made clear and Brock was terrified. The rig was lifted about three inches, crimson in color with massive tires with impressive tread. It was an off-roading vehicle and Brock knew exactly what Jack was thinking. Brock dropped his face in his hands and Jack laughed, a sound that melted any resolve he had against participating in this event. Behind him his mother finally shuffled to the door to see what the hold up was. 

“I thought you were going out,” she said, pausing at his shoulder to smile at Jack. “Hello, Jack.” 

“Hello Mrs. Rumlow.” 

“Oh you can call me Merideth.” 

“Merideth,” he said obediently. 

She looked out into the yard and looked startled. “Is that your car?” 

Brock reanimated in fear of his mother saying something embarrassing. “Okay, let’s go.” 

“Yes ma’am.” 

“I thought you drove a truck.” 

Like her son she seemed slightly disturbed by the behemoth sitting in the yard. Brock slipped past him, tugging on the hem of his worn gray tee to peel him away from any conversation with his mother. “I do, this is my other car.” 

“My,” she said, looking impressed. “Well, get him home before dark, please.” 

“Absolutely ma’am.” 

Brock groaned in dismay at her antics. He was seventeen years old, he didn’t need to be micromanaged by his mother anymore. “Come on,” he urged. 

“I’m coming, I’m coming. Very good to see you again, Meredith.” 

“And you as well Jack. Have fun, Brock.” 

“Thanks mom,” he said miserably. 

Jack laughed again as they stepped off the porch and headed to the Jeep. Brock stood at the passenger side of the truck feeling awfully small in the presence of a vehicle so hulking. “Do you need help getting up?” Jack asked, hovering by the front of the car. 

“No,” Brock snapped. He was the absolute last person to ever ask for help. 

“It helps if you open the door first,” Jack said, rounding the hood to his side. “Then you use the roof handle to pull yourself.” 

“I know that.” Brock replied though it was abundantly clear he didn’t. 

Brock’s knowledge of cars started and stopped with knowing how to add oil, gasoline and windshield washing fluid to his Toyota. Jack was in a different world altogether and this vehicle was evident of that. Brock pushed open the door. It, like the rest of the Jeep, was beefy and heavy. Brock was grateful for that. It would keep him safe during the off-roading activity Jack had planned. He pulled his body upwards, pushing off from the rock rail as he fought to get into the lofty cab. He finally settled, legs splayed awkwardly. He composed himself as Jack slipped up into the Jeep with the ease of a man who’d done so a thousand times over. 

“Excited?” Jack asked, eyes sparkling. 

He wasn’t but he knew how excited Jack was to show him his favorite hobby. Brock would have exercise self control in his expressions. “Can’t wait.” 

Jack rolled his eyes fondly. “You’ll have fun,” he told him. “It’s probably the most fun you can have.” 

Brock seriously doubted that but he didn’t say it. He just smiled and nodded his head as though he was buying all of Jack’s bullshit. He was a firm believer in not acting like they were rednecks but unfortunately for him Jack embraced just as every stereotype that existed, right down to the chew and gun collection. Brock didn’t mind the gun collection and the taste of tobacco on Jack’s kisses never bothered him. He, himself, would admit to believing he was above the social norms that surrounded him in their little one horse town. Where the collective wore Red Wings, Brock wore Uggs -- but he didn’t mind Jack wearing such attire however, in fact he liked it. Brock was a man of contradictions and was difficult to keep up with for anyone but Jack. It was why they worked so well together, opposites attract or whatever. 

Jack leaned forward to turn down Brooks & Dunn and shifted into reverse. Just moving in a car so high up was anxiety inducing. Brock quickly pulled the buckle around him, an unusual action that Jack noticed. He laughed again and, once free of the driveway, shifted into drive and took Brock’s hand. He kissed the back of it and continued to hold it as he drove. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this afraid,” he said which immediately made Brock’s blood boil. 

“I’m not scared,” he snapped, taking his hand. Jack let it go with a chuckle. “It’s not so crazy to not want to get into a car accident.” 

“It ain’t a car accident.” 

“It’s a big, long, drawn out, intentional car accident,” Brock ranted. 

Jack shook his head, reaching down to put on his pair of Pit Vipers. Brock kept his eyes on the road as though it could drop out from beneath them unexpectedly. “Dad wanted me to use his Gladiator.” 

“Is that better than this one?” 

“That one doesn’t have doors.” 

Brock may have wheezed. “Relax baby,” Jack reached over to squeeze his thigh. “I ain’t gon let anything hurt you.” 

“I know that,” Brock said, and he did. He trusted Jack with his life -- he had to now that he was in the Jeep and heading off to their bleak, filthy future. 

“Then loosen up.” Darius Rucker came on and Jack turned it up letting Beer and Sunshine serenade their drive to the unknown. 

The windows went down and Brock began to feel a bit more at ease on the black top. Warm Alabama air brushed his face and Brock enjoyed it. The sun was high and bright, trying its best to dry up the rain. The creeks were all high from the unexpected downfall and Brock tried not to picture being swept away. Fear crept up his spine and he looked at Jack and his ridiculous sunglasses. Reminding himself that Jack would never let any harm befall him, he took a deep breath and closed his eyes. 

The rig dropped from concrete to a dirt road and Brock’s eyes cracked open again. He was familiar with the backroads around town and he had inkling of where they were heading. 

“Oh God,” Brock groaned. He was grateful he’d only eaten half a bowl of corn flakes. 

“You’re gon love it,” Jack replied, eyes still on the road. “Relax.” 

“The river is high, Jack.” 

“So’s the rig.” 

“You’re going to kill us both.” 

“I promise I won’t.” 

Brock scrubbed a hand over his face. He could put his foot down and he knew that Jack wouldn’t fault him for it. But he also knew that off-roading was one of Jack’s favorite activities and Jack wanted to share that with him. That wasn’t something for Brock to turn his nose up at him. After all Jack did a lot of things that he didn’t like. Spring evenings spent in Tractor Supply looking at the chicks, trips to Cavenders and Urban Outfitters. If he could tolerate hours of Brock picking through the sales rack and trying on various items Brock can swallow his fear and let the man take him off roading. 

Jack turned off the dirt road to a trail cutting between boxelders. Brock reached for the roof handle as the Jeep rocked a bit over the trail pocked with roots and rocks. Jack glanced his way and laughed. Brock scowled and clung on tightly. The trail was narrow, so narrow in fact that Brock was certain they wouldn’t fit through at certain intervals. Brock’s fear began to lessen a bit the longer they bounced through the trees. His grip laxed and while he found being up so high a bit terrifying and the rocking of the cab a bit sickening, he found he could tolerate it. The windows were still down and Brock rested his elbow up on the window. 

“Arms in. In case we roll.” Jack said immediately. 

“I thought you said we weren’t,” Brock yelped, yanking his arm back into the safety of the rig. 

“Just in case,” Jack said soothingly. “It’s just one of those safety precautions, y’know?” 

Brock didn’t know but he nodded his head. His grip tightened on the roof handle. One step forward, two steps back. The trees began to break up and as they crested a ridge Brock’s blood ran cold. The river was muddy and churning and Jack wasn’t stopping. 

“Jack!” 

“What?” 

“You’re not taking us through the water. It’ll wash us downstream and we’ll die and I’m not dying before graduation. That would be beyond embarassing.” 

Jack laughed richly. “Baby, I’ve done this a thousand times.” 

Brock made a choking noise and, for the first time in a while, prayed they make it through it. He clenched his eyes shut as the front ended dipped down and the splash of water cut through the radio. “Oh God, oh God, oh God,” he mumbled as the back side splashed down from the river bed. 

The longest fifteen seconds stretched between them where Brock tried to remember his Hail Marys. Then the front tired jostled against the river bed and rolled them up and out of the water, unmolested. Brock released a breath he didn't know he was holding and Jack laughed at him once more. The relief of surviving was too good to even be annoyed about being laughed at. His mood was quickly sobered when he remembered that they would have to go back through it again if the trail didn’t loop back around to the road. The trail grew even more treacherous as they left the rushing water of the river, bouncing over partially buried boulders and great dips in one side that had Brock slipping this way and that in his seat as they traveled along the uneven path. 

“This is your favorite hobby?” Brock asked with a poorly hidden gasp as the front end dropped off the rock to the dirt a few inches down. Brock’s stomach felt like a rock in his gut. 

“Hell yeah,” Jack said, grinning. “But we ain’t got to the best part yet.” 

“Oh dear God.” 

Jack shook his head with a laugh and took his hand. Thankfully his eyes stayed focused on the path they were following. The very last thing Brock wanted to do was to draw his attention off the road and have them drive into the trees. And the trees were closing back in around them, thick and ancient, parting only for the man made off roading trail. Brock’s white knuckle grip on the roof handle loosened and he dropped his hand for the first time. He could make do with the bumps and swaying. The one sided slopes still scared the Hell out of him, sending him scrambling to grab the roof handle in fear of the rig rolling into the trees. Each time the Jeep leveled back out as though it had never been unbalanced. But Jack’s words haunted him. ‘The best part’ would certainly not be the best in Brock’s opinion. Whatever it was that Jack felt trumped driving through the river was going to be nothing short of a nightmare to him.

Jack cranked up the radio as Gabby Barrett came and Brock was able to distract himself with singing along. It was short lived peace however. The trail opened up to a wetland turned massive pit of mud and uneven ground. There was a familiar white Ford Raptor parked beside the mud pit and Clint and Natasha were leaning against it sipping suds off a beer. “You didn’t tell me they were going to be here,” Brock said. 

“I thought it’d be a fun surprise. Besides, what’s the fun of mudding if you ain’t racin’ someone.” 

Brock wondered what the fun was in mudding in general but he held his tongue and turned his attention on the two people watching them driving in. Clint, tall and lanky, was wearing a pair of Carhartts and a purple tee. His girlfriend had a pair of cut offs, a crop top and Bogs on her feet. A pair of Pit Raptors were perched on her head and her readhair was tied back out of her narrow face. She approached the Jeep before it stopped moving and came around to Brock’s side. 

“He finally dragged you out, huh?” she said, leaning against the door and looking through the open window. 

Brock shrugged helplessly as Clint trudged through the mud to Brock’s side as well. He couldn’t decide if he was happy they weren’t alone out there, should something happen, but he was also not sure he wanted anyone else to see him in such a state of terror. Jack revved the engine, his favorite things do in his diesel truck as well and Brock hated how much it turned him on. 

“We gon talk or we gonna get to it?” Jack asked impatiently. 

“Hold your horses, Rollins,” Natasha replied. “I’m talkin’ to your boy here.” 

“I’m not anyone’s ‘boy’,” Brock retorted and she rolled her green eyes. 

“So how scared are you?” Clint asked eagerly. 

“Who says I’m scared?” 

“The way you’re hangin’ onto that handle,” Natasha nodded to the roof handle and Brock’s white knuckle grip. Brock quickly opened his hand and left it fall into his lap, cheeks heating up. “It ain’t as scary as you think it’ll be.” 

“I’m not scared,” Brock protested, a feeble lie that everyone rolled their eyes at. “I mean, what if we get stuck?” 

“I got the winch in the bed of my truck,” Natasha said with a shrug. “But it ain’t happened yet. We know what we’re doing, Rumlow.” 

Brock knew that but it was hard to rationalize his fear. “Well then let’s do it,” he said, ultimately irritated at the lack of control he had on his emotions. 

“That’s the spirit,” Jack reached over and patted him roughly on the shoulder like he was one of his buddies rather than his boyfriend. Brock didn’t have the emotional capacity to be annoyed. 

Natasha grinned, a flash of white teeth that did nothing but heighten Brock’s nerves. Natasha was one of the most intense women he knew and if she was excited he had every right to be worried. She and Clint went to the truck. She climbed into the driver's seat and Clint, like Brock, was the passenger. Jack pulled forward until the mud pit was in front of them and Jack looked more excited than when he got a new AK47 for his birthday. Brock tried to take that heart and at least pretend to enjoy such a strange activity.

“Ready?” Clint called from the passenger's seat. 

“Yup.” 

“Go!” 

The Jeep lurched forward and Brock went back to grabbing the roof handle. The speed reduced as they reached the puddle edge but the spray of water immediately licked the sides of the Jeep leaving muddy brown marks on the red paint. Droplets came through the open window and Brock was glad he had known not to wear anything he was overly fond of. Jack was grinning, both hands on the wheel. Mud slapped the windshield in great flecks of and Brock winced as cold filthy water misted the side of his face and his arm where he was holding fast to the roof handle. Mud aside he wasn’t ready to let go. 

Natasha’s Raptor was edging them out, powering through the wetland at an impressive rate. Brock was glad he wasn’t Clint because he would certainly be terrified to be moving at such a speed. Jack muttered under his breath and to Brock’s horror he pressed harder on the gas pedal splashing through the pit without any fear of getting stuck or losing control. It was equal parts horrifying and impressive. They bounced along to the opposite side of the pit, Natasha beating them out and Brock could finally breathe easy as they came to a stop. 

“Fuck,” Jack complained, tilting his head back. “I ain’t gon hear the end of this anytime soon.” 

Natasha wasn’t one to gloat openly, she was sly about it slipping in her conquests at opportune moments to make it sting all the worst. They backed up on the side they were on and lined up again. “Lookin’ forward to leavin’ you in the mud again, Rollins,” Natashsa called from her seat. 

Clint grinned and Brock felt a surge of protectiveness. “Two outta three,” Brock retorted. 

“You really wanna see your boyfriend lose that bad? Alright,” Natasha revved the engine. “I ain’t gon play nice, Rollins.” 

“Don’t expect you to,” Jack replied and when Brock glanced over at him his face was one of concentration. “Count us down, Brock.” 

Brock was shocked to be put in a position of power but he counted down from five, grabbing the roof handle as the Jeep lurched forward once more. The bumping was erratic. Nat’s Raptor pulled up beside them, coating Brock’s exposed upper half in the window with cold mud. Brock flinched, mourned his hair, and urged Jack on. By some small miracle Jack’s back tires came out of the mud first and Jack punched the air, leaned over and, despite the mud, caught Brock’s mouth in a kiss. Brock melted against him, panic and fear melting away as he was caught up in the man he’d fallen so deeply for. The man he’d leave the safety of the main road for and engage in ridiculous off-roading ventures in the mud. 

“Enough with the making out, we gotta tie to break,” Clint called. They had already back up and gotten in position. The silver truck was no longer silver. There were only tiny specks of paint visible through the mud. Brock had a feeling the Jeep was in a similar state. 

“Let’s go, Rollins,” Natasha demanded and with a sigh through his nose, Jack pulled back, cupped his hand around Brock’s neck and placed a kiss on his hairline. 

“Alright, alright,” he relented. He pulled up, put the Jeep in reverse and, with impressive maneuvering turned himself around for the final race. “You’re gonna be my good luck charm today, Brock.” 

Brock didn’t want that role and opened his mouth to protest but Clint started the countdown. Not wanting to distract him, Brock kept his mouth shut and clung to the handle, hoping they would win. 

They didn’t. Jack sighed heavily and Brock looked at him guiltily. “Sorry, I’m not much of a good luck charm.” 

“Maybe not,” Jack agreed. “But I’m happy you’re here anyway. Want a beer?” 

“I think I need a beer.” 

They got out their vehicles and Jack brought out the cooler he’d brought with him. Natasha dropped the tailgate and they climbed into the bed of the Raptor. Jack had brought food and Nat the beers. Brock was halfway through his turkey and cheese when Clint asked, “Was it as bad as you thought it was?” 

Typically Brock didn’t like to admit it when he was wrong, and even less so when it came to things considered worthy enough for him to fear, so he flushed and looked down. “I guess not,” he muttered and took a bite of sandwich to save him from having to say anything anytime soon. 

Jack snaked an arm around him and gave him a little squeeze. It made Brock feel a bit better about his level of overreaction. He leaned against him. Flecks of mud had dried against his skin and he scratched them off in irritation. He didn’t bother to feel out the damage to his hair, he could feel the heaviness of mud caked tresses. “You know what’s really fun,” Natasha said. “Is takin’ the dune buggies out here. That’ll have to be the next thing we do.” 

Brock didn’t mind the dune buggy. It was perfect for summer evenings. A cooler of Bud Lite tallboys and all the time in the world to cruise the dirt roads. But that was where they belonged -- on dirt roads. “I think I’ll stick with the Jeep, thanks,” he said around his mouthful of food before Jack could get any ideas.

“We’ll have to work him up to it,” Jack said as though Brock hadn’t spoken. 

Brock rolled his eyes but let it lie for the time being. He’d have plenty of time to lay down the law with Jack later. 

For now all he needed to do was hang on and try to enjoy the ride.


End file.
